


Love Letters To A Stranger, Part 3

by the_haven_of_fiction



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:26:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3450440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_haven_of_fiction/pseuds/the_haven_of_fiction





	Love Letters To A Stranger, Part 3

My beautiful bluestocking,

Happy Valentine’s Day, darling! I’m going to write on the envelope and tell you to open this in the morning so that you can carry it around in your coat pocket, like you do so often without knowing that I am aware of it. You don’t know how it makes me feel, the image of my love pressed against your hip as you sit on the train. I wonder if it brushes against the person sitting next to you. You know I’m a bit of a romantic fool, my sweet; I like to think that the person feels something. They probably look at you and see your radiant face and think to themselves “Ah, I must be feeling the effects of her beauty!”

You know one of the things that I love the most about you? You most likely didn’t roll your eyes when you just read that. You never make this romantic fool feel foolish. Thank you. Now, however, you are probably rolling your eyes in amusement because you see that I was momentarily distracted. Have no fear, I will get myself back on the proper road.

So, Valentine’s Day. Do you remember the first one after you were lucky enough to marry me? (Now that, I know, inspired an eye roll…) I woke you up in the best way possible. We started that one off with a bang, heh? Or should I say, a scream? (Another eye roll. Be careful, darling, we don’t want to pass those habits to the littlest Hiddlestons.)

There was the year I thought I would surprise you when I was gone in the week leading up to the big day and we had just moved into the new house. I gave the florist an incorrect address and Mrs.Havers across the street was treated to a dozen roses. I know, darling, I know, but it was only one number that I bungled. Speaking of Mrs.Havers, I adore how you make enough puddings to feed the neighborhood. Your mountains and piles of sweets, those make this holiday delightful. We’ve had some fun with that haven’t we? Frosting always tasted infinitely more delicious when atop my favorite cupcake. (Oh, that must have inspired a blush. I wish I could see that.)

The first time I took Freddie shopping for this day, I told him he could have 20 pounds to spend on you. You’re worth so much more, my sweet, but I was following your instructions when it came to teaching the children about money. I handed him the note and his eyes were so wide, it was like I was offering him the world. All the girls in the shop were cooing over his curls and lifting him up to see the items on the top shelves.

Then there was the first time I took Crispin shopping for this day. Darling, I promise, I still have no idea how that little flower got up his nose. You’ve finally forgiven me, haven’t you? (That was probably an irritated eye roll AND a scowl…) That was our first Valentine’s Day in a hospital. I’m not sure who cried more while the poor doctor was extracting the snot-soaked bud, Cris or you.

The next Valentine’s Day we spent in a hospital is one of my favourites. She was our best gift, wasn’t she? Yes, I fully admit, I was the one who cried the most that day. She was so beautiful, so perfect, so pink and fresh. Our little angel. Freddie and Cris were so excited to get a sister for the holiday. Remember how disappointed they were the next year when it didn’t happen again? Poor little chappies.

You’ve always made this day special for them. At first I was a bit irritated when I would pick up a magazine or newspaper and find it clipped here and there because you had them start a collection of images and words to use for their Valentines; but I’ve grown to almost look forward to it, wondering what designs will be featured. The night before is always filled with laughter and glue and paper hearts as the dining room became home to the best and most talented artists in the world. You make them feel they are just that. You make them feel like they can do anything, be anything, like they are in this world for a specific purpose.

That’s the same thing you do for me, my sweet. Your love gives me courage to try to be a hero for them, for you. When you sit at the table and help them create their Valentines, you always talk to them about love. You teach them that this day is what we make it. We can let it be about the lack of a specific kind of love in our lives or we can let it be about the choice to give love, the choice to give love to everyone around us: our brothers, our sisters, our friends, our neighbors.

You know I always like to include a special quote in my Valentine’s Day letters. This year, I can think of no better one than this:

“Elinor Hiddleston”

Yes, it is your name. Just your name. For me, my sweet wife, there are no other words that so perfectly make me think of love. I’m sure you’ve noticed that there isn’t a period in that quote. That’s because I’ve never seen the end of your love. I’ve seen it temporarily overcome by frustration, usually because I’ve behaved in a deplorable manner or something similar. But your love never runs out. For that, I am forever grateful. For that, I am forever humbled. You are my love, my perfect stranger. I love you, darling.

Thank you for letting me love you.

-The Creepy Man from the train who gets to see you naked (AKA your husband Tom)

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I laughed and read it one more time, my fingers tracing over the letters, tears falling down my face like a salty cascade, then folded it carefully and placed it back in the envelope. I reached for a pen on the desk, the same desk he had used to write it a few days ago. I wrote the words on the envelope, kissed it, and opened the box that held the others from this year. Not too many, since it was only February. A box that would never be full in quantity, but that held more love than many people experience in a lifetime. I placed it on top of the small pile and the words I had written slowly faded from my view as I replaced the lid.

_His last letter._


End file.
